Once a year my now-47-year-old copy of The Joy of Cooking gets opened to this page. It actually falls open to this page by itself. You'd think that by now I'd remember how many minutes per pound to roast the turkey… This ritual is a little melancholy, because it makes me think of all the past Thanksgivings, and the people who aren't around the table this year.
But it also reminds me of how lucky I am. It was a wonderful day! We had lots of family, one foreign student, and two granddogs here (the dogs were from different families, and were a bit argumentative at first, but eventually settled down together). After dinner everyone went outside; the dogs fetched sticks and the children rolled down the hill. In the evening, C took all the dishes out of the china cabinet, arranged them on the bedroom floor, and invited everyone to her "tea party." K presented a handlettered menu, with beverage choices of "red wine, white wine, and green wine." Most everyone chose green wine, and we all sat cross-legged on the floor (I can still do that!) to enjoy the impromptu party.
After we cleaned up I noticed that someone had polished off the Brie that had been inadvertently left on the coffee table. I suspect it was a canine guest.
If I told you that this is all that remains of the turkey, I would be lying: